


Woodstock

by them1ghtypen



Series: A Fire Still Burns: Anthology [5]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hippies, Woodstock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-20 13:25:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17023413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/them1ghtypen/pseuds/them1ghtypen
Summary: Ichigo tells his daughter about the most memorable event from his youth – a certain music concert right before the change of a decade where he met a certain black-haired girl.





	Woodstock

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to Disturbed’s rendition of The Sound of Silence on the radio and loved it so much I looked it up. At the time, I hadn’t known it was a remake, and I realized I liked Simon & Garfunkel’s original almost as much as Disturbed’s. And lo and behold, while listening to the original, I flashed to a scene at Woodstock, bands were playing, and there were Ichigo and Rukia, in their own world playing and singing this song together. And that, good readers, is how this story was born. Enjoy.

 

“Dad! We’re here!”

A slim, dark haired woman walked through the door. Two screaming boys burst into the house, shouting, “Grandpa! Where are you?”

Slowly, and leaning heavily on his cane, Ichigo Kurosaki shuffled into the kitchen as the woman tucked her car keys in her purse. Upon seeing him, her face lit into a bright smile and she opened her arms.

“Hey, dad.” She squeezed him lightly but firmly.

He cleared his parched throat. “How’s my girl doing?”

“Just fine.”

Her two boys ran into the kitchen from another room, embracing the slightly stooped man enthusiastically. He laughed.

“My goodness! You two have grown.”

“We have! I’m now just as tall as Hiro!”

“You are not, Toru!”

“Am too!”

“Are not!”

“Boys,” the woman said firmly. Her light brown eyes were stern. “Let’s not argue in front of grandpa. If you would like, argue outside on his trampoline.”

“Sweet!” they both cried, and hurriedly tried to out-do the other in the race through the back door. The woman sighed heavily and ran a hand through her shoulder-length hair. He put an arm on shoulder.

“Let’s sit down,” he said softly. She nodded, and he noticed she blinked a few more times than necessary. They walked towards the sofas in the family room directly across from the kitchen. “Oh, I made tea,” he murmured. “I’m sorry; I forgot…”

“It’s fine, dad. I’ll get it.”

She sniffled and moved back towards the kitchen. He could hear her rummaging around in the cabinets before registering the soft clink of china. Not a moment later, she stepped out, carefully setting the tray on the coffee table. Still, he noticed the shakiness of her hands.

Once she had finally sat down and taken a fortifying sip, he asked, “What’s wrong, Kia?”

Her blue eyes watered and her breath rushed out as if she’d been holding it in for a long, long time. “Oh, dad. How did you and mom make it work?”

“What’s troubling you, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know what to do. I think Tom wants a divorce, and I know the kids are worried about that. They don’t think I see it, but I do. He’s been staying late and he hasn’t been talking to me… I feel like I get the cold shoulder every time he comes home from work. I know I only work part time but…” She sighed, frustrated, and ran her hands through her hair again. “You and mom have stuck together all this time… What do I do, dad?”

As he stared at her, she realized just how clear, sharp and sad her father’s eyes were. He looked at her as if he had lived a thousand lives, and at that moment, she saw his age for the first time. He looked _old_.

He sighed heavily. “I guess it’s time. 

She looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t misunderstand now. Your mother and I love each other. But things happened…” He cleared his throat. “I suppose I should explain. You remember my stories of Woodstock?”

“Yes.” Kia smiled at the memories. “I loved hearing you talk about the music and the freedom.”

“I left some things out.” He sounded very old, and so very, very tired. “But first, I should say: her name was Rukia.”

-00-

There he sat, big coolers of food next to him, his sleeping bag underneath him, friends surrounding him. Chad was already there, as was Mizuro, both sporting aviators. Mizuro had a Hawaiian bandana wrapped around his head. Keigo had gone to grab food, but knowing him, he would be arriving any minute.

The sun was starting to set. At the moment, there was a lull in the music – The Incredible String Band had finished up their performance, and Canned Heat was scheduled to play in ten minutes.

“Ichigo, is that you?” someone shouted.

He looked around, and blinked quickly. She looked slightly familiar…

“Don’t you remember me? It’s Tatsuki.”

The name was like an electric shock. “Tatsuki!” He jumped up, and they both embraced happily. He definitely wouldn’t have recognized her. Her brown hair was long and choppy with a thick bandana wrapped around her head, but he thought it looked good on her. Her red crop top flowed around her, and he could hear the swish of her striped bell-bottoms.

“How’ve you been? It’s been forever.”

She shrugged. “Still been at the dojo. I’m a teacher. I try to incorporate peace and love when we sit for zen, and I think it’s working. And, of course, I always tell them peace first. Fight only if you have to.”

Ichigo smiled. “Did you guys get here today?”

“And risk missing any of this?” She spread her arms out to encompass the field and smiled widely. “Never.” Suddenly she turned. “Oh, god, how rude.” She gestured behind her at a mousy girl, perhaps a year or so younger. Her hair was a light auburn, and she wore a flowing, flowered skirt and a white peasant top. She smiled quietly at him. “This is my best friend, Orihime,” Tatsuki continued. “She came here with me.”

“Awesome.”

“Yeah, man. Hey, you want company? There’s nobody else around us that we know. Rather be here.”

“Copasetic. Bring your stuff over.”

“Okay. We’ll be back.” The two of them walked off as Keigo approached. He wailed.

“Who is that fox?”

Mizuru lay onto his back. “Cool it, man. She’s coming back.”

Canned Heat checked the mics, and Ichigo heard their voices fan over the audiences. He stood, as did Chad, towering over the both of them, long brown hair swept into his eyes. Mizuru put a hand in the air, his black hair moving with him as he swayed to the start of the music. Keigo stood with him, both he and Mizuru placing an arm around the others’ shoulder. Ichigo closed his eyes and let the music soak into his ears.

Half an hour later, Tatsuki and Orihime showed up, their arms laden with their things, and plopped it down near them. They immediately faced the stage. The group laughed and swayed and sang, jumped and danced and twirled each other through Mountain and The Grateful Dead. Ichigo couldn’t remember a time when he’d had this much fun, this much freedom to just _be_. The music flooded his senses, and he soaked it in, taking as much as possible before it would be over.

By the time the short break before Creedence Clearwater Revival took the stage arrived, all of them were prepping their sleeping bags. It was nearly 12:15 pm and they were all tired.

It was in that moment, lit by the splash of lights from the stage, that she walked up to their group. Her hair was short and as black as the night around them. A thin band rested around her head. Her eyes glittered, and she placed a well-toned arm on her hip. She wore a white, sleeveless, fringed crop top tied in the front with a few strings, and what looked like purple velvet bell-bottoms. A man about Ichigo’s age stood next to her, same black hair, except he wore glasses perched on his nose. His shirt was a bright yellow button-down, his pants a green and yellow plaid.

Ichigo’s whole group stared at the two newcomers. The girl smiled widely and tilted her chin at him.

“That’s some hair. It’s psychedelic, man. 

Ichigo scowled, resisting the urge to touch his orange hair. Her smile widened.

“I like it.”

“You do?” he said quizzically, and she came to sit down next to him. He hadn’t noticed a large black case in one of her hands until she set it down beside her.

“Sure,” she shrugged. “What’d you do to get it that way?”

“Born with it,” he murmured.

She smiled again. “Now that’s definitely psychedelic.”

He grinned at her enthusiasm and easy acceptance. “I’m Ichigo.”

“Rukia.” She held out a hand. He shook it as she said, “That’s my brother Ishida.” Ishida sat next to her, and Ichigo noticed the way Orihime stared.

“When did you get here?” Tastuki asked. She sat up in her sleeping bag. Ichigo looked behind Rukia and saw that neither her nor her brother had anything more than a thin blanket.

“Yesterday evening sometime,” Ishida replied, his voice deep but evenly spoken. It wasn’t hard to realize these two were probably higher class than the rest of them.

Ichigo cleared his throat and began to introduce everyone. The only one left out was Mizuro, who was somehow already asleep. As time passed, Ishida and Orihime already looked comfortable with each other. Somehow, they had crept closer together, and their hips and crossed legs touched. Orihime’s hand rested delicately on Ishida’s thigh, and one of his arms supported his weight as well as caressed her back. They talked softly, shared small smiles that Ichigo would bet money on they hardly shared with anyone else.

Rukia turned to Ichigo, and he suddenly realized that her eyes were purple. “Want to sing before we go to sleep? You know, while we’re celebrating music and all.”

Surprisingly, everyone was on board despite claims of sleepiness, and Rukia pulled out a guitar from the large black case she’d been carrying. Ichigo smirked. She looked at him, and he could see the challenge in her eyes.

“Can you sing at all?”

“Of course.” He grinned.

“Okay. I’ll start playing, and you guys join in.” Rukia looked down at her guitar, and suddenly, her whole demeanor changed. Her eyes softened, her body relaxed and her eyes closed.

She strummed a few notes. “Hello, darkness my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again. Because a vision softly creeping left its seeds while I was sleeping. And the vision that was planted in my brain still remains – within the sound of silence.” Ishida joined in, his voice perfectly harmonizing with hers. Ichigo smiled. This was the perfect song to sing.

“In restless dreams I walked alone narrow streets of cobblestone. ‘Neath the halo of a street lamp, I turn my collar to the cold and damp.”

One by one, his friends joined in.

“When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light that split the night, and touched the sound of silence.”

Ichigo watched Rukia sing, watched her get lost in the vocals as she strummed on her guitar. It was mesmerizing, her voice haunting and singing an octave higher than Simon and Garfunkel had. It sent chills down his spine and he quickly added his voice to the mix.

“And in the naked light I saw ten thousand people, maybe more. People talking without speaking; people hearing without listening; people writing songs that voices never share, and no one dare disturb the sound of silence.”

Around them, others had begun to sing with the group, but Ichigo didn’t see any of that. He only saw Rukia’s lashes flutter open and her violet eyes look at him with the most piercing stare he’d ever seen. And still they sang.

“‘Fools,’ said I, ‘you do not know silence like a cancer grows. Hear my words that I might teach you; take my arms that I might reach you.’ But my words, like silent raindrops fell and echoed in the wells of silence. And the people bowed and prayed to the neon god they made. And the sign flashed out its warning, and the words that it was forming. And the sign said ‘The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls and tenement halls.’ And whispered in the sound of silence.”

Rukia strummed a few more notes before slowly bringing the song to a close. Ichigo smiled, eyes roaming their little group. Mizuro was still sleeping, and Keigo was making out with some girl in the true spirit of free love. Tatsuki lay down, covered halfway by her sleeping bag, grinning, hands held up to the starlit sky as she hummed _The Sound of Silence_ once more. Chad stared at the stars, hands behind his head. Ishida and Orihime spoke in low voices. They had their lower halves snuggled into her sleeping bag, and she leaned back on his chest as Ishida supported her weight. She looked smitten, as did Ishida, and Ichigo was glad for her.

His eyes fell back on Rukia, and she grinned at him like she’d been waiting for his eyes to find hers again. “Mind a sleeping partner?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Hard to believe you wouldn’t be able to afford a sleeping bag, or something better than that blanket.”

She shrugged, and the smile turned into a smirk. “Shida and I were waiting for something that struck us, gave us inspiration. Hime’s hair might not be as bright as yours, but it’s still one of a kind. It took us all of yesterday and today to find you two; think we’ll leave that easily?" 

“That’s one hell of an explanation.”

“Yeah, but it’s true.”

“Why?”

Rukia looked out to the stars, her face becoming just as serious as Ichigo’s last question. “There are so many fake things out there today. When you took offense to my comment on your hair, I knew it wasn’t dyed. No one who’d dyed it would be offended by bringing it to light. We wanted to find real people who loved music.” She paused a moment. “Not that people here don’t love music, but it’s different with us. The velvet pants…the speech…” She looked at him. “You obviously noticed we’re not quite like your group.”

He just shrugged and nodded.

“And yet you let us in,” Rukia said. Her eyes rose to the stars again. “You were the first group to truly not let class stand in the way.”

“The others did?”

“Subtly. They’d exclude us from a few conversations, move away a bit as they were singing. Shida and I could catch a hint. So we kept looking.”

“Makes sense.”

“Hey, Kia.” Ishida’s voice floated quietly over the small space. He and Orihime were cuddled in a blanket inside of her sleeping bag. “Sleep tight till morning.”

She smiled fondly. “Sleep tight, Pan.”

At Ichigo’s look, she shrugged. “We always used to play Peter Pan when we were kids. Swore we’d never grow up.” Her voice trailed off. “Now, every day I worry that he’ll get a letter in the mail saying he’s been drafted.” She choked, and looked away from her brother. 

Softly, Ichigo placed a hand on her shoulder. Rukia’s violet eyes watered even more when she turned them on him. “What about you?”

He nodded. “Every day.”

“Would you run?”

With that question, he wondered how they’d fallen into such a serious topic so quickly. “No.” Ichigo barely whispered the word. “I don’t want to go to war, and I think Nam is pointless. But I’d go.”

Rukia sniffled. “That’s what Shida says. He’d never neglect his duties. Honor and such.”

Ichigo tried to smile, but it came out a grimace. “Something like that.”

“I’m sorry, Ichigo.”

“About what?”

“I’ve never really spoken about this with anyone. I didn’t…mean for it to come out, I guess.” Through her watery eyes, he saw her assess him, most likely trying to figure out just what made her so comfortable around him. He decided not to question it, because he was just as comfortable with her. He inclined his head towards his sleeping bag.

“Come on,” he murmured.

She smiled, and he relished in the brightness it brought to her face. _She really should smile more often_ , he thought as she settled against him, her warmth spreading through his whole body. A little while later, her lips found his in the dark, and like the way a breeze caressed his skin, her warmth permeated his heart as if it’d been pixie dust.

-00-

“Dad?”

Ichigo started – acutely aware of the aches and pains of being old. He was no longer a lad of twenty-four mesmerized by a quick-witted girl. His heart sank.

“I’m sorry, Kia,” he murmured.

“It’s fine. You just spaced out after telling me you offered your sleeping bag.”

He cleared his throat. “Right, right. Well, we were inseparable after that. Stayed for the rest of the music and found out we went to the same college. Later, we even flew in and marched on Washington on November 15, 1969.” He licked his lips. “On February 18, 1970, the order for me to report for my physical arrived in the mail.”

“But… I didn’t know you were drafted.” Kia had a delicate hand over her mouth.

“I told the both of you I served in the war.”

“Well… Well, yes, but…” Kia’s voice shook. “You never told us it was like this.”

“No, I suppose not.” Ichigo sighed, and forged on. “Rukia was furious. She’d come to see me that day because her brother had received a letter, too. She said the war and government were taking us away from her. If anything, she became more zealous in the protests. I went with her to the protest in Ohio on May 4 because we went to college there. We were both upset about the killing of students at that rally, so we flew down to attend the protest in Jackson College.”

His hands, gnarled with Parkinson’s, shook.

“She was shot,” he said difficultly. Kia gasped. His hands trembled harder. “Right there on the oval. Died right in front of me. The ambulance was called but it didn’t get there in time. She died in my arms. I got my induction letter six days later.”

Kia exhaled shakily, and Ichigo realized she was crying. “Oh, my god, Dad.” She wiped at her eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”

He smiled sadly. “Kia, life hits you when you least expect it, and most of the time it refuses to let you come up for air for a long time. It’s your job to cipher through it, take that knowledge and turn it around as best as you can.”

“That’ not an answer.”

“Not quite,” he amended.

“Besides, you said yourself Rukia died.”

“She was twenty-four.” His eyes dulled. “Yes, I’ve had to live without Rukia for many, many years. She will always be my first love. But had she lived, I wouldn’t have had you or Shida. Hime and I wouldn’t be such good friends – we truly share everything. It’s different than how Rukia and I were, but no less.”

Ichigo stood slowly, grunting with effort. His old, calloused hand patted Kia’s. “Think about what I’ve told you, Kia. Think about the story. You’ll figure it out.” He brightened visibly. “As for me, I have an appointment with an old friend. Your mother should be home from groceries in half an hour, so let the kids play here and let her know where I am.” He leaned in and gave his daughter a kiss on the cheek. “I love you, sweetheart.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Dad.” She sighed heavily as she watched him walk out the front door.

-0000-

He was slow, he knew, but it was a beautiful day, and he was feeling better than he had in years. A few snatched dandelions were all he’d been able to grab, but he knew it was better than nothing.

Carefully, Ichigo stepped into the graveyard, open to anyone who wanted to visit. In this small town, it wasn’t as if there were grave robbers everywhere, much less people buried with their valuables.

Directly in the center, just as she had been for years, was a weather-worn headstone. Engraved was “Rukia Kuchiki, a beloved daughter, friend, and who always stood up for what she believed. 1946-1970.” Ichigo reached out a hand, and gently laid it on the headstone. He sniffled.

“Hey, Rukia,” he murmured, voice choking even as he spoke her name. With great difficulty, he sat beside her grave and placed the two dandelions on the bottom. Tears fell fast and hot, but he made no move to wipe them away. “Ah, darling. I’ve missed you all these years.”

He breathed heavily, letting the breeze ruffle through his silver hair and attempt to dry his eyes. He’d thought he was long past crying, but reliving the time they first met had brought everything back.

“Kia and Shida never knew you, but I know you understand why I didn’t tell them for so long. Oh, Rukia.” He buried his head in his hands. “I never forgot you. But you know that, don’t you? Of course, you know everything.” A watery laugh slipped from his throat. He cleared it. “You know that I still love Hime and am so grateful for our kids. I love them so much and don’t wish them to be any different. But with you, I was a young fool in love with so much life to live. Forever young, as long as I had you. But it’s been hard without you, baby. So hard.”

A pained sigh left his lips. “Even after all these years, you’re my number one. My Pan. I love you, Rukia.”

His heart hurt. He hadn’t been to her grave for a while, and Ichigo realized now that it was a mistake. Life had aged him, and he wasn’t able to take it as well now as he had before. Perhaps he just needed a small nap. Yes. A quick nap before he walked home to his family.

Ichigo closed his eyes.

-0000-

“Oh, Kia, you’re here!”

Kia brightened as her mom entered the kitchen. “Hey, mom!” Despite being in her seventies, Orihime didn’t look a day older than sixty. Her auburn hair was completely peppered now, but it looked good on her. Kia walked out and helped her mother bring in a few paper bags filled with groceries.

“So, what’s the occasion?” Orihime asked.

Kia huffed. “I came to ask Dad for advice and it didn’t work out so well.”

Orihime chuckled. “Well, tell me, and I’ll interpret.”

“Well, I came over because I’m worried about Tom and me.” She repeated her worries. “And then Dad tells me the story about Woodstock.”

Her mother’s grey eyes cut to her sharply. “Woodstock?”

“Yeah. The second day, and a bunch of you singing _The Sound of Silence_.”

“He told you about Rukia?”

“Yes,” Kia said. “But I don’t understand what he was talking about.”

“It was the song,” Orihime said, bracing her arms on the kitchen island. “If you look deeper into the meaning of the song, it’s about communication. That was your father’s way of telling you communication is the key. He used to be so brash; and such a temper!” She shook her head yet a fond smile lifted her face. “Now he loves to speak in insufferable riddles. He’s lost a lot of who he used to be.”

“Wait a minute; I don’t understand. He was talking like he…loved Rukia. Really loved her. How did…”

“How did we work?” Orihime gave a wry chuckle. “We both had first loves, dear. I was going to marry Ishida. Oh, he hadn’t proposed yet, mostly because he didn’t want to make a promise to me in case something happened to him in the war.” Orihime looked down, and her hands gripped the edge. “He died in action.”

“Mom!” Kia gasped. “That’s horrible.”

Orihime nodded. “Ichigo was actually the one who brought me the news. He’d been with Ishida when he died. And we remembered then that we’d both met briefly in Woodstock, and at Rukia’s funeral. We were good friends for a long time before Ichigo asked me if I’d like to be his best friend forever. We loved each other in a way; don’t think we didn’t, Kia. Through our friendship came a slow, steady love, one that I wouldn’t ever give up because we have you two. But we came together because we were so similar in our plight. We were bonded by our own losses.”

Kia put a hand to her head. “Shida. That’s why you named my brother Shida.”

“Yes. We had agreed. A girl would be named Kia, after her. A boy would be named Shida, after him. Neither were too obvious, but just enough. Amazing isn’t it, that you both came out with black hair? Exactly like them.”

“Mom, I… I don’t know what to say.”

The older woman placed a comforting hand on her daughter’s arm. “Talk to Tom, dear. Tell him you want to sit down because you have worries. Most of the time the marriages that don’t work are simply due to miscommunication. _Talk_ to him, and listen in turn.”

“I will,” Kia sniffled. “I will, Mom.”

“Good. Now where’s your father?”

“He said he had an appointment with an old friend.” Kia wasn’t fast enough to process the slight hesitation in her mother’s movements.

“I see. Good for him. We should meet him there later.”

Kia nodded. “Thanks, Mom. You’ve really been a big help.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Orihime smiled.

-0000-

Kia cried harder than she ever had in her entire life, sinking down to her knees. There lay her father, head resting against Rukia’s headstone, his body just as cold. Her mother stood close, an arm around her daughter, and her eyes watery.

“He was only seventy-two, Mom!”

“I know, dear,” Orihime said quietly. “But he lived a long time without her. We loved each other more than you think, but for some people, those first loves never go away, and their loss plagues them until it makes a young body die of heartache.” Orihime cleared her throat. “You must also remember that he saw war. He saw not only his comrades die, but he also saw Rukia die, and he saw Ishida die as well. Those things never leave.”

“Why are you being so philosophical? You said you loved dad!”

“I do, Kia,” Orihime said firmly. “But both of us knew we would never be truly whole unless he had Rukia and I had Ishida.”

“Why are you just accepting this?”

“This is life, Kia. I will miss the camaraderie, his undying friendship, and his loyalty. He was my best friend.” Her voice hitched.

“I can’t believe you’re talking like this, Mom,” Kia accused.

“Don’t judge us, Kia. We did what we had to do. And we did love each other, just not in a way I think most people would understand.” This time, she looked at her husband of twenty-five years, and her mold cracked. “Farewell, my friend. I envy you your freedom. Hug Rukia for me, and tell… Tell Ishida I’ll see him as soon as I can.”

Kia looked up hurriedly. “Mom, what are you saying? What’s going on? Don’t tell me you’re going to die, too?”

Orihime sighed and knelt beside her daughter, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as she stared at Ichigo. “No, Kia. I’m not going any time soon.” Gently, she swept her husband’s silvery bangs away from his forehead.

Kia continued to sob.

 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh..ha. Yeah, angst much? Well, I wasn’t intending it to be soooo sad, but it’s pretty sad. Tear-worthy? I like to create those gut-wrenching, sob-worthy stories apparently so let me know how you like it lol. Despite that, I still love it.


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